


Would You Like to Build a Sandwich?

by handschuhmaus



Series: Rogues and Ramblers: Tales from the World(s) of Star Wars Rebels [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Gen, advertising campaigns with iffy implications, choose your own sandwich shops, likely inaccurate depiction of Chopper's noises, parts scavenging, playing with droid pronouns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-20 01:05:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2409431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/handschuhmaus/pseuds/handschuhmaus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chopper, sent out in search of parts/necessary substances for ship maintenance, decides a sandwich shop is the most likely place to find some of those things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Would You Like to Build a Sandwich?

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second fic that was inspired by the Subway Star Wars Rebels ads. I don't think there are Subways in the GFFA for the Ghost's crew to be visiting them, okay?
> 
> ...nevertheless, no offense is meant in writing this to Subway, and most of the one's I've visited have been far more pleasant than the generic sandwich shop depicted here. I'm blaming the poor droid maintenance and staffing issues on economic regime uncertainty in the troubled times of this setting. ~~Even though sandwiches are obviously a consumer good... but I mean in the premiere there's all this stuff about vendor registration and the stormies seizing the guy's fruit so... _extremely uncertain future there_~~
> 
> ...this was actually conceived of and largely written _before_ the premiere of "Spark of Rebellion"! It fit thematically in with "Fighter Flight" but alas I did not get around that week to finishing the small bit at the end that needed to be done to have a properly postable story. Whoops.

"What type of bread would you like your sandwich on?" the serving droid asked dully. It was far from interested in the response--it asked this question hundreds of times each day. But this time on this particular day, it did not receive one.

Chopper whirred irritably. The little droid was _meant_ to be running an important but secretive errand, not being asked how it would like a sandwich it couldn't eat anyway. "I'd like to see _you_ devise a way to convert sandwiches into electricity appropriate for recharging me," it thought irritably.

"What type of bread would you like your sandwich on?" the serving droid repeated.

Chopper beeped rather rudely at the unnecessarily repeated question. Unfortunately this seemed to be interpreted as some sort of reply that disrupted its programming, for it reached vaguely in the direction of a piece of flatbread, only to grasp at thin air and knock two of the long loves of this chain's signature sandwiches off the tray and onto the floor. It turned back around and activated the sandwich conveyor with an infrared signal, which most flesh-beings wouldn't have noticed. Yet it still asked Chopper once more what type of bread it wanted its sandwich on.

Merrily (and with minimal invective) muttering to itself on how unhelpful the service droid was, chopper wheeled on to the next station, hoping the droid that added meat and cheese to sandwiches would prove less obtusely determined for it to order a sandwich.

This one, who was painted mostly what humans considered bright blue, automatically played its question file, a pleasant female synthesized voice inquiring "What type of meat would you like on your sandwich?" and, after a pauce, "Cheese?" But the blue droid was remarking regretfully in an undertone that --she? did the blue meat & cheese droid prefer being called she?--was sorry for having to ask the question.

Chopper spared a moment of pity for these sandwich shop droids, even if they were making its job harder just now, since they were programmed with limited capacity. The shop owner might not even realize they had _this_ much capacity for sentience. Then Chopper realized it had presumed the worst of the bread droid itself and felt momentarily ashamed before hastening its thoughts past this useless sentiment and back to the task at hand. 

"I do not want any meat or cheese on my non-existent sandwich" it said in astromech to the blue droid, but did so relatively kindly. She tootled back a brief apology and allowed that at least she, yes, had a female voice.

"Hey," a voice speaking Basic reached Chopper's audio sensors. "We don't serve droids in here!" It was a Neimoidian in the shop's uniform.

Chopper bloopled eloquently and waved its manipulator arm to encompass the shop's droids.

The Neimoidian made an odd mewling noise that seemed the same emotion as a sigh and allowed wearily, "Point taken. But _you_ can't possibly want a sandwich. And why humans would insist on sending in an astromech that doesn't speak Basic I don't understand."

Chopper beeped in indignant correction. While technically it couldn't _speak_ Basic, lacking in an appropriate voice synth, it certainly understood the language (had to) and was capable of communicating in it through a written medium. Well, a textual one anyway. Chopper had never tried writing with its manipulator arm and had some suspicions that doing so adeptly required practice.

" _Okay_ ," the employee assented. Chopper focused its visual sensors to read the nametag hanging around their neck and learned that the Neimoidian was apparently called Aut. "I get you. What can we do about incompetent superiors, eh?"

The aged astromech tweeted its agreement before being accosted with the next question by the many legged vegetable droid. "What veg-ta-bles would -ou like on you-r- sand-wich?" Its vocabulator was on the fritz, but it ditted back a wry apology in astromech for that and the question. Furthermore, the adjacent condiment carousel whirled with its every movement.

"Cucumber, pepper, tomato, spinach, lettuce, peppers, olives, onions, peppers, what do you think?" Chopper replied sarcastically, and observed that this droid was assembling the vegetables it had listed in a salad bowl with bittersweet regret.

"What--what exactly was it you came in for?" Aut asked concernedly. "Surely you didn't _want_ a salad?"

"No," said, or rather beeped, Chopper. "My mistress requires vegetable-based lubricant and a weak acid solution. Oil and vinegar will do."

The blue droid relayed and elaborated on the message quietly in Basic, to ensure the flesh-being understood.

"Oh, _that_. That we can do."

And so Chopper was presented with a salad bowl packed with several packets each of the required substances, cushioned by a bed of vegetables, and paid with the credits it had been given.

* * *

"Chopper?" Hera asked uncertainly when it had handed her the bowl. She looked around to ensure that no one was watching her ask silly questions of the droid. "Why did you bring me a salad?"

"Look inside," it instructed with a friendly but weary bloople.

"You bought me a whole salad in order to get my stuff?" she asked, and then teasingly patted its top. "What, can't an astromech go to the grocery any more?"

Chopper thought for a minute before reporting, "No, no droids are allowed." 

"Oh, you silly little droid," the Twi'lek declared affectionately and smiled at it. Her droid, which did, after all, have quite a lot of personality, tried to return the display of friendship by patting her gently with one of its manipulator arms, but the one it used was not really designed for such patting and it poked her a little, making her jump. 

Hera looked down at it lovingly again before she informed the ship at large "Chopper's completed our errands. We should be able to be underway shortly."

**Author's Note:**

> ...yes, that was rather silly.


End file.
